


welcome, little one

by lameafpun



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Death in Childbirth, Gen, Skoura is a Good Dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25169869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lameafpun/pseuds/lameafpun
Summary: She clutches at her stomach with a grimace, and Skoura isn't ready and continues to not be ready as the servants carry her away behind a door that can't block the cacophony of pain and panic.
Relationships: Skoura & Anaia (Assassin's Creed)





	1. Chapter 1

Skoura traded in blood and pain. He had been born with a spear and shield in his hands and a snarl on his lips, and given his body to battle with pride. His division in particular spoke fluently in the tongues of war —

Skoura did not shy away from gore and pain but hearing screams from a room over anxiously was an entirely different monster. Sitting helplessly did not fit him and so he paced outside the doors, eyes darting to the offerings made to Artemis and praying it was enough. He could hear the screams soften and break and feared they weren’t. 

He had to stand and listen as the screams softened into cries and whimpers, contrasted suddenly by a loud, heartbreakingly young shriek that sent a shot of adrenaline through his heart. His hands reached for the lip of a holster he’d left behind. The whimpers trailed off with a low, exhausted sigh. Skoura couldn’t make himself open the door and knew it would be one of the regrets he would hold in his heart.

The door creaked open moments later, a haggard women in long robes speckled with red emerging with a bundle of cloth. She beckoned Skoura with tired, sad eyes.

The little human deposited carefully in his arms shifts grumpily. They were so light, cradled in just one arm, with skin so soft and delicate Skoura nearly recoiled in fear of harming them with just his presence.

They opened their eyes briefly to stare up at him with new eyes, brown like his, and snuffled and closed their eyes again, trusting him to take care of them while they slept.  
A hand settled on his shoulder.

“We’re preparing the funeral rites.”

Skoura nodded absently, as the woman bowed her head and left, tracing a finger along the baby’s cheek and marveling with a sense of wonder that makes him feels years younger and older, all at once ready to give his life and horribly unprepared for everything that entails.

“She wanted to call you Anaia.” Skoura murmured, his daughter’s face growing blurry before his eyes. “Welcome to the world, Anaia.”


	2. home

Skoura looks across the Arena, that familiar adrenaline pumping through his veins —

Skoura looks along the hilt of his spear, at the misthios who moves so quickly they remind him of his days on the battlefield —

Skoura is looking up at the ceiling of the Arena with a hand held to his stomach, blood steadily seeping out between his fingers. The misthios is speaking to him, regret tucked in the back of their gaze. They hold his hand as the edges of his vision start to fade with kindness he hadn’t entirely expected or, perhaps, deserved. He thanks them anyway. Their grip is warm and calloused, something familiar and treasured, as he closes his eyes and savors the way the crowd cheers.

“Dad!” He opens his eyes. Slowly, carefully, taking in the blue sky and the feel of wind on his face and the blades of grass that dig at his back. “Daad!”

Brown eyes like his and a nose like his and smile like hers crowds his vision. A small hand tugs at his beard impatiently. It jerks back, seeing the twitch of his arm, but not quick enough to evade when he snatches her hand with a small grin.

“Aha!”

She groans. “Da-ad!”

Skoura sits up, rolling his shoulders and putting the way his heart twists in the back of his mind. He looks around, at the color that seems more vibrant than is possible and at the brightness that can’t possibly come from the sun because he can’t see a hint of it in the sky. It’s just a nice, blanket blue that’s almost too perfect. It looks like something plucked from the nicest summer day, possible only perhaps in a dream. Not a cloud is in sight. Skoura inhales deeply; the scent of flowers and a suspicious warm kind of smell, of spices and familiar food and people, flood his nose.

He swallows and shifts his gaze from the scenery to the little girl that has been waiting uncharacteristically patiently for him. She grins, and he sees the gap in her teeth. Her skin glows with health and her cheeks are very nearly rosy, no longer pallid. Skoura does not cry.

“C’mon!” Anaia offers him her hand and Skoura pushes off the ground, her hand in his and completely dwarfed by it. As soon as he’s standing she’s tugging him down the hill in a direction that makes the warm smell of spices and baked bread grow stronger.

They stop in front of a familiar house and he finally can connect the familiar food to tagenites.

Anaia opens the worn wood door with a smile, tugging Skoura behind her as she navigates the oddly clean halls to the equally sterile but homey dining room. They round the corner and finally Skoura sees her. She smiles softly when she sees him, holding her arms open and laughing when Anaia runs ahead and crashes into her arms.

Skoura hesitates in the doorway.

Anaia looks back and waves him over with a childish excitement. “Dad come on! I made tagenites!”

He notices the little handprints of flour on the front of her chiton and a laugh is shaken out of him, the doorway falling behind him as he approaches the table. Anaia brightens and hands him one of the little doughy disks dripping with honey. It drips onto his shirt and leaves his hand sticky but it’s the best meal he’s had in years. He settles into the chair that exactly as far from comfortable as he remembers and takes a breath, looking over at his family. He’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> skoura's ending was the saddest thing in aco and this is me dealing with it


End file.
